Shelter
by Shtuff
Summary: AU. Sequel of sorts to The King's Gambit and The Last Train Home. Six and a half years after the Cuban Missile Crisis, Erik and Charles are in New York City, chasing a ghost.
1. New York, New York

**So, like most of my stories, this one blindsided me. I know everyone is expecting another chapter of _Last Train Home _and that _is _coming, but it's a very emotionally difficult chapter and I've been having more problems with it than I first expected. **

**Then, one day, I was randomly surfing YouTube and came across this clip: youtube .com/watch?v=iMlizURn6u8 from Michael Fassbender's new movie _Shame. _**

**Watching it, I was reminded of Erik for some reason. Well, my muse took that and ran a thousand miles an hour with it. Now, I have this sort of sequel to _The King's Gambit _that's shaping up to be a three-shot. **Hopefully, everyone will enjoy it while they wait for the next update on _Train. _****

****Inspiration, and the title, was also heavily drawn from Birdy's beautiful song Shelter. I definitely recommend listening to it. Also, if you haven't seen it already, inspiration was also drawn from the _Shame _trailer: youtube . com/watch?v=62nelnMXW3M, especially the running scenes. Well, mostly the running scenes. And the standing dramatically in the dark scenes. ****

**Okay, I'm done now. Enjoy the story!**

* * *

><p>Maybe I had said, something that was wrong.<p>

Can I make it better,

With the lights turned on?

_Shelter, __**Birdy**_

* * *

><p>The subway rattles and creaks around him—the sway and the lights flashing by a persistent distraction. He shifts in his uncomfortable metal seat, keeping his eyes on the woman across from him. Today, she's wearing a simple dress and boots, and her blue beret flatters the bright red of the hair tumbling down her back. Her wedding ring glints in the dim light and she stubbornly ignores his stare as the train approaches the next stop. She looks normal—a pretty, but unassuming young woman—and he has to give her a measure of respect for blending in so well.<p>

She's standing now, passing in front of him as she grips onto the pole in the center of the aisle. The next stop must be hers, then. Or she wants to get away from him. That seems to be the more likely of the two, he thinks as he rises. He stops just behind her, crowding her space as much as possible without attracting attention. He wants her to know that today will be different.

Today, he isn't going to let her slip through his fingers.

She tenses, shoulders going rigid beneath her woolen coat, but she maintains her composure, staring resolutely at the lights flickering past on the tunnel wall. Then, the train is stopping, and she darts forward through the opening doors. He hurries after her, dodging two harried businessmen trying to board. They glare at him, but he's used to the rudeness of New York City by now, and ignores them as he rushes after her.

Her blue hat bobs through the crowd, and he tracks it up the stairs, taking them two at a time in an effort to close the distance between them. She's faster than he expected and near the top he almost slams into a couple descending the stairs. He backpedals a step, pressing past them with a muttered apology.

When he finally makes it to the top, she's gone.

He spins in a confused circle, scanning the crowd with a puzzled frown. He could have sworn he saw her in the corner of his vision right before he reached the top step, but there isn't a sign of her anywhere.

She's vanished. Like a ghost. Like every day before this one.

He wants to punch the wall in frustration, but he forces himself to calmly turn around and head back to the platform, letting mental curses carry the weight of his anger instead.

* * *

><p>"No sugar in that one, please," he says politely to the barista behind the counter. She glances up at him with a smile, which is a rare thing in this city. It's enough to make him smile back reflexively.<p>

"No problem, hon." Her accent has a hint of Southern drawl, which would explain the smile. Not a native. "That's a nice accent you got there."

"Thanks," he replies with another smile. "I'm British."

She nods, extending his coffee to him. As he reaches out to take it, a swell of anger fills his mind with such force that he staggers, barely managing to catch himself on the counter. His vision whites out for a moment and his head pounds like a war drum, making his mouth dry and his skin feel clammy.

It passes in a moment, but it leaves him a little shaken in its wake.

"Are you alright, hon?" He blinks, realizing that there's a warm hand on his arm and the barista is peering at him in concern.

"I'm fine." He smiles for a third time, aiming for charming and distracting.

The woman frowns dubiously, but doesn't comment further as she hands him his coffee. Keeping his smile firmly in place, he thanks her brightly.

"You just take care, hon."

Once he's out on the street, he lets the pleasant expression slip from his face and picks up his pace, hurrying toward the nearest subway station.

It looks like they've lost her yet again.

* * *

><p>It's dark when he makes it back to the apartment. Erik is sitting on the couch, staring out at the city lights—hunched and pensive, but the air still crackles around him, electric with anger and frustration.<p>

Charles approaches cautiously, setting the coffee down on the table in front of Erik and taking a seat in the armchair a safe distance away. The shadows and bright lights dance with each other across Erik's face and the silence hangs heavy in the air. He lets it be. After six and a half years, he's gotten used to this kind of quiet and he knows that only Erik can be the one to break it.

"I let her get away." It's harsh and angry, full of inner loathing, and he winces. "I got the closest I've ever been. She was _right__there._And I let her get away."

"We'll try again, then." He keeps himself calm and composed, projecting peace down his mental bond with Erik.

Erik glares at him sharply, but there isn't any real hatred behind it. "We may not have another chance, Charles. We've been here for three weeks, chasing a ghost. We can't keep this up much longer."

"We have to," Charles argues as Erik pushes himself to his feet, pacing restlessly in front of the expansive windows that make up the back wall of their New York apartment. "We can't afford to let this go. You said so yourself."

"I know," Erik snaps, raking a hand through his hair. "It's just that …" he sighs, stopping to face Charles with a weary expression that has become too familiar over the past six and a half years. "Things are tense right now, with the new scanners the CIA is developing. We're needed in Westchester, Charles."

"Westchester is in good hands," Charles counters, feeling just as tired. "After all, Wes and—"

There's a bang from next door and raised voices that drown out the rest of his sentence. Exchanging a wide-eyed glanced with Erik, he scrambles to his feet, pivoting to face the left wall as chaos continues to unfold.

"What's going on over there?" Erik murmurs, looking apprehensive.

Charles hesitantly places a hand on his temple and reaches for the occupants of the other apartment.

_No no no, __please __we __haven__'__t __done __anything __wrong __you __can__'__t __take __us __away __no w__e __haven__'__t __hurt __anyone __you __can__'__t __prove __anything__…__._

He jerks back with a gasp, clapping a hand over his mouth to stifle the pained sound that wants to escape. "What?" Erik hisses, hovering at his shoulder with tense anxiety. "What's wrong?"

"It's the police. They've found a suspected mutant."

Erik curses and starts for the door as the metal in the room begins to sing. "No," Charles chokes out, grabbing a fistful of Erik's shirt. Another crash resounds next door, drawing flinches from both men.

"Let me go," Erik snarls, struggling in Charles' desperately strong grip. "I have to help them!"

"You can't," Charles insists miserably. "It's too late."

"It's never too late. We can't just let them be taken away!" Erik gives a violent wrench that nearly throws Charles off balance. The shorter man goes with the motion, slamming into Erik's side and clamping a hand over his mouth.

"Be quiet. We can't let them hear us." Erik thrashes again, but weaker this time, and Charles knows it's because his friend is afraid of accidentally hurting him.

He presses his forehead against Erik's shoulder, feeling the metal manipulator shaking in his grip with barely suppressed rage. His own heart aches and weeps as the mutants are dragged out of the room and down the hall—their screams long since silenced by tranquilizers. He longs to reach out with his telepathy and affect the minds of the officers, make them blind, make them leave, but it's too risky. The paranoia permeating these troubled times wouldn't allow the officers' superiors to merely look the other way. They'd start asking questions and that's unacceptable.

He tells Erik all of this, through their bond, and feels the other man slowly beginning to relax in defeat. At last, he senses the officers exiting the building and lets go of Erik, taking a step back as his friend slowly massages his jaw.

"I'm sorry," he whispers into the guilty silence.

"That strength training you've been doing definitely paid off," Erik jokes back lamely, even though Charles wasn't apologizing for that.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, and it isn't just for Erik, but for the lives next door that he let the wolves devour.

Erik shakes his head, reaching out to place a heavy but comforting hand on Charles' shoulder. "You were right. We have enough of a security problem in the Underground right now. The last thing we need is the police poking around where they shouldn't be."

Charles sighs as he pulls away from Erik, limping back over to the couch. He collapses onto the soft cushions with another weary exhale, dropping his head into his hands.

"They were only level two," he whispers into his palms. "They won't be considered much of a threat."

It's a pathetic attempt at easing his own guilt, he knows. Guilt at letting them go, guilt at not realizing that there have been mutants living next door for the past three days, guilt that he's carried with him for years, over not being able to save the world. It all hurts and he digs his fingers into his own skin for a shaky breath, reaching for that place of rage and serenity that allows him to let it all go.

"I hate that ranking system," Erik is muttering when he finally looks up again. His old friend sinks down on the couch next to him. "It's more proof that they consider us subhuman. They think they can just divide us up into neat little boxes for their convenience."

Charles laughs, bitter and hollow, and slumps further back against the cushions, staring blankly at the ceiling. "We have to find her, Erik."

"I know," Erik replies grimly.

They stay on the couch for a long time, staring out at the empty city lights.

* * *

><p>The maps flutter as they drift toward the floor, scattered by Erik's frustrated hands. He's been over every inch of them for hours now, until they started turning blurry, and he's no closer to a discovery than this morning. Glaring at the maps, he takes a long swig of brandy. It's only two in the afternoon and he's on his second glass but he can't bring himself to care. The guilt from the raid two nights ago is still haunting him and the frustration over the dead ends he keeps running into has joined it in creating a storm inside his chest.<p>

_Steady__… _A familiar voice whispers through his mind, pulling a quiet smile from him in spite of the storm.

_I__'__m __fine. _He sends back, adding in a dismissive wave for effect, and gets an eye roll in response before Charles retreats back to the bartender he's trying to get information from.

Erik shakes his head, bending down to pick up the maps. The mental connection they've been building ever since Erik gave Charles free and complete access to his mind can be both a blessing and curse. Today, he's grateful for it. Charles' presence is one of the anchors that keeps him from getting swept up in the storms that ravage him.

Setting the maps back on the table, he downs the last of the brandy with a grimace. He deposits the glass in the cabinet and the bottle back in the cupboard where it belongs—determined not to touch it for the rest of the day. This done, he pads back over to the dining room table and settles in again, scanning the maps for the thousandth time.

He's spotted her in Lower Manhattan, Soho, Upper East Side, and Chelsea over the past three weeks—the redheaded, unassuming woman in the colorful hats. Every time, she slips through his fingers like water, disappearing into the crowd of New York City. He tried to shout after her once that he didn't want to hurt her, just wanted to know _why,_but she hadn't even looked back and her colorful hat vanished like a ghost an instant later.

Two days ago, she was on the subway coming back from Brooklyn and he wishes she would stop being so damn unpredictable. He doubts she lives here and he half suspects she's hotel hopping to throw him off her trail. But she hasn't left the city, even though she knows he's looking for her, and that's the really puzzling factor of this whole mess.

Something is keeping her here, he just can't figure out _what._

He rubs at his exhausted eyes and pulls another map across the table. There's a pattern here somewhere and he's going to find it. He wasn't a Nazi hunter for nothing.

Fifteen minutes later, he's asleep with his head pillowed in his arms.

* * *

><p>He wakes up to a small hurricane in the form of Charles blazing through their apartment. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he watches his friend rush around gathering papers off the sofa and coffee table while trying to pull on his jacket at the same time, nearly tripping over a lamp in his haste.<p>

It's all a bit amusing, but an edge of worry cuts through the chuckle bubbling in Erik's chest. The bond is in a frenzy as Charles' mind moves through facts and calculations at a speed that leaves Erik dizzy.

"Charles?" He ventures cautiously. "Everything okay?"

"Johnny's in town," Charles says through the papers stuffed between his teeth. "He says he has information for us."

Erik stands quickly, flicking his gaze around the apartment in search of his coat and shoes. "I'll come with you."

Charles finally gets his jacket situated over his shoulders and shakes his head. "No, my friend. You stay here and get some rest. You look terrible."

"I've been sleeping for," he checks his watch with a quiet grimace, "three hours, Charles. I'm fine."

Stuffing the papers into his shoulder bag, Charles shakes his head again. "Please, Erik, just stay here. You and Johnny don't get along anyway."

"That's hardly my fault," Erik says a touch defensively as he trails after Charles, watching his friend search frantically for his keys. _By __the p__lant, _he sends mentally as he continues to argue. "Johnny just needs to get over himself. I do not, in any way, resemble this Viktor person he keeps going on about."

Charles sweeps up the keys. _Thank __you._"Well, Bradley thinks you do, too, so maybe Johnny is right." His voice is teasing as he drops the keys into his pocket, turning to Erik with a faint smile. "I'll be fine on my own."

"I've been cooped up in this blasted apartment all day, Charles." Erik crosses his arms and manages to keep a pleading note out of his voice. "I could use some fresh air."

Charles pats his shoulder. "The windows open, I think."

_Please, __Erik. __Just __trust __me __on __this._

"Prat," Erik growls, using one of the British idioms he's picked up from years spent in Charles' company.

Charles' grin turns cheeky as he realizes he's won. "But you love me anyway, right?"

"Get out before I brain you with that lamp." He nods threateningly at the truly hideous lamp sitting on one of their end tables. "I've wanted to get rid of it since we moved in here."

"I'm going, I'm going." Charles hurries toward the door with a slightly dramatic eye roll.

_Thank __you,__old __friend._

The door closes, leaving Erik in silence again. Still a little puzzled over why Charles was so adamant about going alone, he leans against the back of the sofa with a tired sigh, scrubbing a hand over his face. The brief levity his banter with Charles brought is fading, and in its wake he can feel familiar weariness settling in.

He needs another drink.

He's about to go retrieve the brandy from the cupboard when there's a knock on the door. He freezes in the middle of the living room, jerking his head to stare at the door in apprehension. The raid from two nights ago is still fresh in his mind, and deciding that he doesn't want to take any chances, he floats a knife over from the kitchen. Gripping the weapon tightly, he approaches the door and bends to look through the peephole.

Blond hair and warm brown eyes stare back, and his breath catches in throat. Fumbling in his haste, he nearly drops the knife as he undoes the locks and throws open the door. Raven smiles at him from the hallway.

"Hello, Erik." Her gaze flicks to the knife still in his hand and she arches an eyebrow. "Somehow, I doubt you were cooking."

"Sorry," he mutters, sending the knife back to its resting place with a wave of his hand. "Things have been …. tense around here the past few days." He glances at her again, hardly able to believe she's here.

She smiles at his bewildered expression. "Judging from your surprise, Charles didn't tell you I was coming." She steps forward to hug him, and he wraps his arms around her tightly, drinking in her warmth and the subtle smell of her perfume.

"No, he didn't." The cheeky little brat. He'd be paying for that later. Pushing thoughts of revenge out of his mind for the moment, Erik pulls back so he can kiss her, nearly drowning in the sensation of her lips against his. It's been far too long. "But I'm glad you're here."

He closes the door with another flick of his hand, leading her into the apartment with her hand gripped firmly in his. Once the locks click, signaling safety, she shifts, skin rippling back into blue and her yellow eyes spark as she grins at him. He kisses her again, just shy of desperate. A part of him wonders if he's still asleep at the dining room table and this is all a dream.

"What are you doing here?" He asks once they part, running his fingers through her fiery hair.

"There's a conference happening here in a week. I'm part of the team helping to get everything ready. I got in this afternoon and thought I could take some time to pay you a visit." She laces their fingers together with another bright smile. There's still a touch of sadness in it he hates. "Since it's been six months."

"Far too long," he agrees, squeezing her hands.

She glances around the apartment, taking in the scattered papers and empty glasses with a frown. "It looks like a hurricane came through here." Her gaze turns back to him and her frown deepens. "And you look like you got hit by a bus or something. When was the last time you slept?"

"Thanks," he replies with a dry smile. "Less than an hour ago, actually."

"In a bed?"

"That's a little harder to pinpoint." He keeps his tone light, teasing, in hopes that she'll let it go. He doesn't want to ruin her visit with the weight of their world and the uphill battle they're constantly fighting. He has enough weariness and heartache to last him a lifetime, and dwelling on it won't help.

"Idiot," she mutters, but her eyes are understanding. "Running yourself ragged isn't going to help. No wonder you haven't caught her yet."

"Hey!" He barks, but there's laughter bubbling in his throat, and he's so glad to see her that it's impossible to be angry. He draws her into his arms again, letting the laughter trickle out and fortunately it doesn't sound too hysterical.

She laughs with him, wrestling against his playful grip. She finally stills when he seals their mouths together again, bringing her arms up around his neck.

"I've missed you," he murmurs when they draw apart, resting his forehead against hers.

She presses a blue hand to the side of his face—the scales rough and familiar on his skin. "I've missed you, too." Her eyes are too sad, too old, and the steady ache in his chest throbs.

The dark apartment feels claustrophobic, suddenly, and he just wants to forget for a little while. Wants to be with her as nothing more than a man in love, without the pressure and pain of everything else bearing down on him.

"Let's get out of here," he suggests, letting go of her so he can search for his coat. "Go walk around the city or something."

She smiles, stuffing her hands in her pockets. "That sounds great. Every time I come here I never get to see anything but the inside of office buildings."

He chuckles as he locates his coat and shrugs it on before wrapping a blue scarf around his neck. Realizing that he must look like a mess, he combs his fingers through his hair, as well, hoping it will lie flat again.

"Besides," Raven continues, watching him with an amused smile. "We've been dating for two years and we've only been on three official dates."

Giving up on his hair, Erik begins putting on his shoes. "I know. We're an embarrassment to the dating world."

"A tragedy," Raven agrees, sauntering over to the table and peering at his maps. "This is a lot of ground to cover."

He returns to her side, looping an arm around her waist so he can draw her away. "I know. But we're not talking about that right now. No CIA, no Underground, and no rogue mutants who want to expose us to the government."

She smiles at him with that touch of sadness again, and her eyes drift to his scarf. "I gave you this." She fingers it gently. "For our first anniversary."

"Yeah. You said I needed to try something besides turtlenecks and 'live a little.'"

She chuckles at the memory. "It looks good on you."

He smiles back at her, taking her hand and tugging her gently toward the door. "Come on. We have some sight-seeing to do."

"And we can move the date number up to a stunning four," she adds teasingly.

Their laughter trails them out of the darkened apartment, leaving the oppressive silence behind.

* * *

><p>"Took you long enough to get here," Johnny huffs when Charles slides into the booth across from him, signaling a waitress.<p>

"Sorry. There were delays on the subway." He orders a drink with a polite smile and sets his shoulder bag down next to him.

"No worries," Johnny dismisses with a wave of his hand. "Public transportation's always a nightmare."

"How is everything in Las Vegas?" Charles inquires as the waitress returns. He thanks her with another smile and she sashays back to the bar.

"Well enough." Johnny watches warily as Charles raises his fingers to his temple and quickly makes the bar forget about the two men sitting in the back booth. This is a conversation that cannot be overheard. "Telepaths," Johnny mutters when he drops his hand. "You guys are somethin' else."

Charles gives him a faint smile as he takes a sip of his beer. "You should be used it by now, I think, having spent so much time around Emma."

Johnny shrugs, running his fingers around the rim of his own glass. "I've been spendin' most of my time at the Chicago station with Bradley and a few others. Don't see much of Emma and the Hellfire Club these days. I'm only makin' this run because Azazel's too conspicuous."

"Right," Charles grimaces. "I'd forgotten about that. Sorry."

Another careless shrug. "Years blur together. I get it." The teleporter takes a long swig of his beer and sighs. "So how's the chase goin'?"

"Not well," Charles replies with a sigh of his own. "We've been here three weeks and we've barely been able to locate her."

"We think she's a shifter." Charles almost chokes on his drink, gaping at Johnny in shock.

"A metamorph? Like Raven?"

"Yeah." Johnny's tone is far grimmer than Charles likes. "At least, that's the information Emma got."

"No, no it makes sense." Charles peers down at his glass, feeling the puzzle pieces finally beginning to connect. "It would explain why we've been having such a hard time keeping track of her. She's shifting appearances on us. In fact," he adds with a bitter smile, "it's a wonder we've been able to locate her at all."

"Well, you'd better hurry it up. You've only got a week." Johnny adjusts his cowboy hat as Charles once again gapes at him with a frustrating lack of dignity.

"A _week? _Why?"

Johnny sighs, returning his attention to his beer. "The CIA's holdin' some kind of big conference in town. Stryker and a bunch of other big wigs are gonna be here. We're guessin' that's when she's gonna approach him with the info. So you gotta find her before then."

"Damn," Charles mutters, massaging his temple wearily.

Johnny chuckles without humor. "Yeah. That pretty much sums it up."

Charles takes a long swig of his drink, relishing the burn of alcohol down his throat. It helps ground him, if only a little. "That's going to be … difficult."

"Well you're gonna have to try. The whole Underground is countin' on you not to mess up."

"Thanks for the support," Charles grumbles, glaring weakly at Johnny.

The teleporter grins back, not affected in the slightest. "Any time. Oh, and Emma told me to let you know that if you screw this up, she's comin' out here to kill you herself."

"How very kind of her." Charles lets the sarcasm drip from his voice as he finishes his drink. "And unnecessary. Erik and I will handle this. She can stay in Las Vegas and manage the Hellfire Club like she's been doing for the past five years."

Johnny tips his hat at the telepath—teeth flashing white against his dark skin. "I'll be sure to tell her that."

"Please don't. I like my brain intact, thank you." He's the stronger telepath, they both know, but his morals have long put him on an uneven playing field with Emma Frost, even if she's gotten better over the years.

Well, relatively better. She still isn't above using her powers to manipulate, deceive, and threaten, but she no longer fancies human annihilation and world domination, which is a major improvement in his book.

"Don't worry," Johnny moves to stand, placing money on the table for his drink. "I like my head intact, too. Haven't you ever heard of blamin' the messenger?"

Charles laughs as he pays for his own drink, sliding out of the booth. "True, my friend."

They face each other, solemn once again, and Charles wishes the moments of levity weren't so fleeting these days. "Take care, Johnny," he says, putting a hand on the teleporter's shoulder.

Johnny nods, patting Charles' arm in return. "You, too. Say hi to that creepy friend of yours for me."

"Erik is hardly creepy," Charles counters with a frown.

Johnny shrugs. "To you, maybe, but I've seen mutants like him before. Wasn't a pleasant experience."

Charles shakes his head, deciding to let the issue slide. They've been cycling through it for almost five years now without making any progress. They hardly need to start again. "I'll tell him you said hello."

"Good. I'll let you know if we find out anythin' else." Johnny pats his shoulder again and disappears with a flicker.

A shocked murmur runs through the bar and Charles curses, swiftly erasing the incident from every mind present. Once normal business has resumed, he pulls his scarf tighter around his neck and slips out into the cold night air.

This is troubling news, but he won't tell Erik yet. Raven is in town and they deserve a few moments of peace to themselves, at the very least.

Tugging his collar up, he turns and heads toward the river, hoping a walk will clear his mind.


	2. Night Lights and City Streets

**Thanks for the contined support guys! This should be part two of three or four. Sorry it's not much of anything, but I hope it's at least entertaining. **

**Enjoy! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated. **

**P.S. For those who don't know (which I'm sure isn't many) chapter five of The Last Train Home is up. Chapter six is in the works. Hopefully, to be completed by the end of October. **

* * *

><p>Can I be? Or was I there?<p>

Felt so crystal, in the air.

I still want to drown, whenever you're near.

Please teach me gently, how to breathe.

* * *

><p>Erik drinks in the cold air and the warmth of Raven pressed against his side as he laughs in disbelief. "The giant bull? Out of all the things to see in New York, you pick the giant bull?"<p>

"Why not?" Dear Lord, Raven sounds like she's _pouting._"The giant bull sounds more interesting than a bunch of skyscrapers and bridges. I've seen plenty of those already."

Erik chuckles again, letting himself be dragged toward the subway. "Fine. The giant bull, it is."

They come out in Lower Manhattan, not far from Battery Park and Wall Street, and Raven rushes ahead of him, blonde hair fanning around her as she pivots to shoot him a brilliant grin. He feels some of the ever-present ache die away at the sight. She takes his breath away like this—laughing, beautiful, and full of life, framed by glimmering city lights.

Oh, how he's missed her.

"Keep up, old man," she calls, spinning forward again and hurrying down the street.

"Hey!" He picks up his pace, breaking into a jog. "I'm only four years older than you!"

"Ancient," she teases as he draws even with her. "You're almost forty, after all."

"Don't remind me," he gripes good-naturedly, looping their arms together once more. "Besides, I feel eighty half the time."

She squeezes his arm, knotting her fingers in his sleeve briefly, and there's a painful understanding in that gesture. They are both old souls now, worn down by years of fighting against the tide. He presses a kiss to the side of her face, silently telling her to forget. Tonight, they get to be young.

"There it is!" Raven points, breaking the contented silence that had fallen between them.

She drags Erik forward, ignoring his huff of protest, and together they run the last handful of steps to the statue. Erik pulls them to a stop right before they slam into the cold metal, and Raven's laughter echoes down the empty street.

"It's bigger than I thought it would be," she says once she's collected herself, reaching out to run her hand across its face. "And meaner looking."

"It's a bull. Bulls are mean."

"Great deductive reasoning there, Sherlock."

"Why thank you, Watson."

She laughs again, leaning against the statue and tilting her head toward the sky. "I've missed you, Erik Lehnsherr. No one laughs at my jokes in Langley."

He comes to stand next to her, resting his back against the cool metal of the statue. "That's because you work for the CIA. They have no sense of humor."

"No, they don't," she agrees and an easy silence falls between them again.

After a long moment, Raven twists to look up at the bull statue again with a contemplative expression. "I want to climb it," she decides, turning to face it fully.

"Why?" Erik asks, puzzled.

"So I can say I rode a bull, silly." Raven grasps onto one of the large horns and easily pulls herself up onto its neck. Balancing with a grace that never fails to amaze him, she looks down at him with a challenging grin. "Well, are you coming, old man?"

"Very funny." He rises to the bait, hauling himself up next to her. Together, they inch their way across the smooth metal to the bull's back.

Planting her foot dramatically on the statue's curved tail, Raven places her hands on her hips and throws her head back in the perfect image of an old conquering leader. "Lieutenant, we have vanquished the fearsome beast!"

Trying to contain his laughter and maintain his precarious balance, Erik gives her a mock salute, layering his voice with a Spanish accent. "Aye, captain! What a fearless leader you are, to have conquered such an animal! They will be singing your praises all throughout the kingdom!"

"That's a good accent," Raven compliments, smiling over her shoulder.

"Well, I do speak the language fluently."

Raven makes a sound of agreement and assumes her character again, pointing imperiously toward Battery Park and the glimmering East River. "Come, Lieutenant, now that the beast is no longer blocking our path we can continue on to the river!"

"Aye, Captain!" He jumps off the statue after her, chasing her down the street.

He catches her on the curb of Battery Place, right before the entrance to the park, sliding his arms around her waist and hauling her to a stop. She's laughing breathlessly as he picks her up off her feet, spinning her around like a giddy teenager.

"Erik!" She shrieks, kicking her feet and choking on her laughter.

He sets her down with a teasing grin, laughing as she swats his chest playfully. "I should … have you … court-martialed … for destroying my … dignity," she gasps out, wiping tears of mirth from her cheeks.

"Terribly sorry, Captain," he murmurs in her ear. "I don't know what came over me."

She smacks him again and he grabs her hand, curling his fingers around hers so he can pull her closer, swallowing down her lingering laughter with a kiss.

"Come on," he says when they part, knotting their fingers together more securely. "The view from here is incredible."

He leads her across the street and into the park and together they amble up to the railing on the far edge.

"Wow," Raven exclaims, looking with wonder out at the Statue of Liberty and the lights dancing across the surface of the East River. "It's beautiful."

Erik, caught up in the way the lights play with the shadows across her face, can only agree. "It is."

She glances at him, catching his gaze, and makes an admonishing face. "You're supposed to be looking at the river."

"I've seen the river. I've seen the river every day for the past three weeks. I'm over the river." She laughs, shaking her head at him, and the lights fill her brown eyes with gold. "You're more beautiful than the river, anyway."

"Erik Lehnsherr," she shoves at his shoulder, "that is the corniest thing I've ever heard."

"But true," he insists.

"But so, so corny."

"Okay, I might have heard it in some movie that was on late last night."

"Ha. I knew it."

"It's still true, though." He wraps an arm around her shoulders, hugging her to his side so he can press a kiss to the top of her head.

He wants a life with her. He wants to see her every morning when he wakes up and every night when he goes to sleep. He wants to hold her hand whenever he feels like it. He wants to marry her and grow old with her. He wants to drown in her laughter, pull her close, and never let go.

He wants to know if they have a future made up of more than a few stolen moments.

But he doesn't ask, because he already knows all the answers, and the ache is deep enough without adding to the pain. So he merely presses in closer and loses himself in the scent of her perfume and shampoo.

* * *

><p>The bench is cold as Charles sinks onto it with a quiet sigh, massaging his aching leg and gazing out at the lights of New Jersey across the river. There's a headache pulsing behind his temple that he can't quite get rid of and it's making telepathy difficult. The press of so many minds has been taxing these past three weeks, and he has no doubt that has contributed to his inability to pinpoint their rogue mutant.<p>

Rubbing his forehead, he leans further back against the bench and tilts his head up to the starless sky. New York City is beautiful, but it's easy to get lost in sprawling expanse of lights and rushing people. Easier still to lose others in the chaos.

He misses Westchester.

Something moves in his peripheral vision and there's a flare of a mind approaching. Bolting upright, he turns to his left and catches sight of a purple hat illuminated by the glow of the streetlamps. Beneath the hat is a flare of brilliant red hair and his breath hitches.

Surging to his feet, he breaks into a jog, pushing past the pain in his leg.

The mutant looks over her shoulder, blue eyes glimmering in the darkness, and spots him. Her gaze narrows and she starts to run.

Cursing, Charles picks up his pace, pushing his leg to the limit as he chases her across the street and into a maze of alleyways. He's losing ground rapidly, and if only his stupid headache would clear he'd be able to latch onto her mind and freeze her in her tracks. She turns a corner and he pushes himself faster still—determined not to lose her.

As he rounds the corner, a fist crashes into his jaw.

Gasping, he staggers back against the wall—black spots dancing in front of his vision. Honestly, he should have seen that coming, he thinks with a mental kick for his stupidity. He tries to rally himself, but a hand fists in his jacket and slams him against the wall again, pulling a pained cry from his lips. Blinking through the blur of disorientation, he shudders when he realizes he's looking at Erik.

"Stop following me," the mutant wearing Erik's face growls, matching his friend's harsh accent perfectly as another hand comes up around his neck, cutting off his air.

"We don't want to hurt you," he chokes out, fingers scrabbling to find some kind of purchase, push her off. But she's borrowing Erik's strength and he's no match for that, even on a good day.

"Then leave me alone." The grip tightens and he struggles to concentrate.

"We just … want … to know … why." He reaches for his telepathy with every ounce of his strength, fighting off unconsciousness. At last, he manages to brush against her mind and projects _LET __GO _as forcefully as he can.

She cries out and releases him, clutching her head. Her form ripples and shifts, cycling through several different people before landing on the pretty woman with the red hair again.

"A telepath," she breathes, and her eyes are wide with fear.

Charles pushes himself upright, chest heaving as he struggles to draw air into his burning lungs. "I don't want … to hurt … you…"

She moves in a blur of speed, shifting back into Erik again. He scrambles to reconnect with her mind, but he's too late. Her foot slams into his stomach, wrenching a scream from him. His head hits the wall with a sickening _crack_and unconsciousness finally pulls him into the dark.

* * *

><p>"We should go somewhere for dessert," Raven is saying when his bond with Charles flares in alarm and pain before going silent.<p>

He stops so suddenly he nearly jerks Raven off her feet. She turns to gripe at him, but freezes when she catches sight of his face. He knows he must be pale and wide-eyed, but he's too busy frantically shouting down the bond to pay much attention.

"What is it?" Raven hurries to his side, hovering at shoulder with a worried expression. "Is it Charles?"

Erik nods, still trying to glean some kind of information from the dull connection. "He's in trouble. I think he's unconsciousness. I can feel his mind but he's not responding."

"Leave it to that idiot brother of mine to walk headlong into danger," Raven mutters, but concern drips from every word. Her fingers curl in Erik's sleeve. "Can you find him?"

"Yes," Erik says at last, finally managing to sift through the bond enough to pinpoint Charles' location. "He's not far away. Just up a little further uptown. Near West St. and the Hudson River."

"What are we waiting for then?" Raven breaks into a run, dragging him along by the sleeve.

They tear out of Battery Park and across the street, dodging honking cars as they skid onto Greenwich St., passing beneath the shadow of the World Trade Center and heading into Tribeca. The docks and the Hudson River gleams on their left and skyscrapers tower on their right, situated amidst alley mazes that wind all through the city. Charles is in one of those, Erik is certain, and pushes himself faster.

His lungs are aching by the time they reach Laight St. but Raven is still matching him step for step, though her eyes have long since turned golden as she gave up some of her attention to focus on her speed.

"Almost … there…" he pants to her and receives a clipped nod in response.

They turn off Vestry St. into one of the winding alleys and there, just around a corner, is Charles, slumped against a brick wall in an unconscious heap.

"Charles!" Raven cries and sprints the last few steps, tumbling to her knees beside her brother.

Erik fumbles to a stop next to her, catching himself on the wall, and wonders why danger and pain seem to follow them all around like magnets.

"How is … he?" he heaves, trying to get air back into his over-worked lungs.

"He seems to be okay," Raven murmurs, checking him over with trained professionalism. "He has a head wound, but I can't tell how serious it is. There's also some bruising around his throat." Her voice darkens in anger as she adds, "I think someone tried to strangle him."

Erik curses, punching the wall in frustration. "We shouldn't have left him alone."

_I__'__m __not__ … __a __helpless __baby. _The mental voice startles him so badly, he nearly jumps a foot in the air. The quiet bond sparks to life again as Charles begins to wake. _In __spite __of __what __you__ … __may __think._

"Charles?" He crouches beside Raven, peering expectantly at his friend's face. After a tense moment, Charles' eyes flutter open and he groans, reaching up a hand to his head.

Raven catches the hand, squeezing it tightly in her own. "Easy," she whispers, full of relief. "You hit your head pretty hard."

"I'll be fine," Charles mutters. "Help me up."

Together Raven and Erik help him sit up and in the dim lamplight, Erik can see the glisten of blood matting the telepath's hair. He forces himself not to panic. Head wounds always bleed a lot and Charles seems coherent enough. Still, he can't help but worry as he watches Charles suppress a groan, leaning into Raven for support.

"I'll be fine," he repeats as Raven and Erik exchange an anxious glance over his head. "Just need to … rally myself. That's all."

"What happened?" Erik asks as Raven presses a handkerchief to the back of Charles' head, soaking up some of the blood.

"I had a run in with our lady friend." Charles grimaces in pain as Raven applies pressure. "Please don't break my skull any more than it already is."

"Shut up, baby," Raven orders back with all the bluster of a younger sister.

"The mutant?" Erik asks, drawing Charles' attention back. "You saw her?"

"Yes. And I gleaned some _interesting _information about her."

"We can talk about it back at the apartment," Raven declares when Erik moves to inquire further.

Nodding a little guiltily for not putting his friend's health first, Erik stands and squeezes her shoulder. "Good idea. I'll hail us a cab."

The cabbie arches an eyebrow when they all pile inside, taking in the bloody rag and bruises on Charles' face. "Mugging?" He ask sympathetically.

Charles nods—still half slumped against Erik—and the cabbie shakes his head. "Tough luck, pal. Where to?"

Erik rattles off the address and they slide into traffic.

* * *

><p>After laying Charles gently on the couch, Raven gets the first aid kit for his head and Erik rubs salve on the bruises marring his throat and jaw.<p>

"A shifter?" He asks for the fifth time, still trying to take in everything Charles had told him. "Like Raven?"

Charles nods—still patient after so many repeats of the same information—and slumps further back against the pillows. "Yes. She morphed into you. It caught me by surprise."

Raven sinks down on the couch next to Charles and begins to clean his head wound, ignoring his slight hiss of pain as she dabs it clean. "I can't believe there's someone else out there with my ability."

"I'm glad you're on our side," Charles says emphatically, patting her arm.

"It explains a lot," Erik muses, finishing up with the last of the bruises. "It's probably the reason we haven't been able to catch her."

"Well, we have to pick up our game. We only have a week before Stryker arrives in town."

"I could try to delay him," Raven suggests as she bandages the wound.

Erik shakes his head firmly, feeling the echo of Charles' disagreement through the bond. "No. Absolutely not. You'd only be putting yourself in danger."

"And you idiots aren't?" Raven demands, gesturing angrily to the bandages and medical supplies scattered around them. "Why do I have to sit by and watch while you two constantly put your lives on the line?"

"I don't want anything to happen to you," Erik says a touch more desperately than he means to. "I _can__'__t _let anything happen to you."

"And what do you think I'd do if you end up dead, either of you?" There's a sheen of tears in Raven's eyes that knots something tight in his chest. "How did you think I'd live through that, Erik?"

"Enough," Charles says before he can think of a reply, reaching out to a place a hand on both of their arms. "Arguing isn't going to help anything. Danger aside, Raven, we can't afford to compromise your position in any way. Your place on Stryker's team in invaluable to the Underground and we can't risk losing it."

Raven sighs, hanging her head in frustrated defeat. Erik longs to reach across and hold her, but he keeps himself still. Once again, other things must come first.

"Why don't you stay here tonight, Raven?" Charles continues, smiling up at her. "I'm sure Erik won't mind." The smile turns a little teasing when it moves to him, but he nods.

"Yes." He leans forward, cupping her cheek. "Stay. Please."

She smiles at him, brushing her scaly fingers across the back of his hand. "Alright. If you don't mind sharing your bed. I'm not sleeping on the couch and neither are you."

He chuckles. "I think I can make that sacrifice for one night."

"Good."

And just like that, for a moment, everything is okay again.

Later that night, after Raven has gone to bed, Erik stands and stares out at New York City, trying to sort out the mess in his heart.

"A penny for your thoughts?" Charles asks from the couch and Erik sighs.

_You __should __be __asleep._He can't help the fondness that creeps into the admonishment, even as he meets Charles' gaze in the glass with a stern glare. "Why? You can have them for free."

Charles smiles, tugging the blankets up around his chin. _I__'__m __fine. __I__'__ll __sleep __momentarily, __I __swear._ "I'd rather participate in conversation. It's much more interesting."

Erik takes a long moment to gather his thoughts, wondering where to begin. "I want to marry Raven," he finds himself blurting.

Charles' smile turns sad. "I know," he murmurs softly.

"But I can't, can I? There's … we can't make it work. Not with everything else standing in the way." He presses his forehead against the glass, letting the cool surface calm some of the storm in his soul.

"I'm sorry, Erik." Charles' voice is a whisper of pained understanding and Erik knows why. Somewhere out there, Moira MacTaggert is living a lie and Charles will never be able to see her again.

"Do you think we'll win this fight?" He changes the subject, because lost love is more pain than they need.

In the glass, he watches as Charles stares down at his lap, picking at the threads of the blanket wrapped around him. The bruises gleam in the dim light. "I don't know." It's a quiet admission that strikes deep in his soul. When Charles looks up his gaze is haunted. "I don't know, Erik."

Erik sighs brokenly. He's so tired. "We should get some sleep. Do you need me to help you to your bedroom?"

"No," Charles shakes his head, rising slowly off the couch with the blanket clutched tightly around his shoulders. "It's less than twenty feet. I'll be fine."

Erik nods, turning back to the window. He hears a rustle of cloth, and then Charles' hand lands on his shoulder, followed by the telepath's forehead, pressed gently against the side of his arm. The solid weight is comforting, an anchor, and he lets out a shaky breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

"We'll be okay, Erik," Charles says, and Erik is grateful for the confidence layering his voice. Hopefully, like always, Charles will have enough faith for both of them.

He forces a tired smile, reaching up to pat Charles on the back. "I know we will."

Charles pulls back with a half-smile of his own. "Goodnight, Erik."

"Goodnight, Charles."

He watches the city lights until he hears the quiet click of Charles' bedroom door, feels the bond dimming in preparation for sleep. Sucking in a deep breath, he exhales slowly and turns away, sliding into his own room.

Raven is curled up on the bed, nearly drowning in a pair of his pajamas. Though she'd had to borrow pants from Charles, griping about how unnaturally slim Erik was. The whole affair had brought well needed laughter into their evening. Smiling fondly at the memory, Erik pulls a spare pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt out of his dresser, changing quickly and folding his clothes on the empty chair in the room.

He slides into bed next to her, pulling the covers up to his chin to retain as much warmth as possible. It still gets frigid in April and as expensive as this apartment was, it isn't well insulated at all. The downside of lots of windows, he supposes as he edges closer to Raven. She mumbles in her sleep and curls into his side, instinctively seeking out his warmth. He smiles, in spite of the knot in his chest, and brushes a tender hand across her cheek.

"Will you marry me?" He whispers to her.

She slumbers on, peaceful and oblivious, and he pulls her close, burying his face in her hair. The silence whispers of impossible things and he does his best to ignore it.

* * *

><p>"Promise me something," Raven says from the doorway the next morning—her face pressed into his chest.<p>

"Anything," he answers easily, running his fingers through her blonde hair.

"Promise me you won't go near Stryker or that conference." He hesitates and her grip tightens, fingers knotting in the back of his shirt. "You said anything."

"Fine," he surrenders with a sigh. "I promise."

Raven lifts her head to smile at him before peering over his shoulder. "That goes for you too, Charles," she calls to her brother, who is leaning against the kitchen table eating a piece of toast. "_Especially _you. Stryker saw your face once. He knows what you look like."

Charles swallows down a mouthful of toast with a look of protest written across his face. "Raven…"

"No, Charles." Raven steps away from Erik so she can cross her arms and glare threateningly. "Promise me."

Charles' gaze searches her face for a long moment before he nods. "Fine. I promise," he echoes Erik's words and Raven relaxes in relief.

"Good," she says with another smile, glancing back and forth between them.

Erik returns the smile, but it doesn't stay long—chased away by the sinking knowledge that she's leaving again. He would ask if she really had to go so soon, but he doesn't want to seem childish or petulant, so he merely pulls her close again, kissing her one last time. "Be safe, too. Please."

She reaches up to cup his cheek, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I'll do my best." Releasing him, she strides across the room to Charles, giving him enough time to set his toast on the table before she envelopes him in a tight hug. "Don't be an idiot," she mutters into his hair, "okay?"

"I'll do my best," he huffs, mimicking her and she smacks him lightly on the back of his head for it.

"I love you." It's a quiet whisper and the teasing smile slides off Charles' face.

"I love you, too, Raven," he replies, pulling her closer. "Always."

Erik watches the sight from the doorway with a sad smile. Their lives seem so full of good-byes these days, even if they're only the temporary kind. After a moment, Raven lets go of Charles and comes back to him, leaning in to give him one last kiss.

"And I love you," she says as they rest their foreheads together.

"I love you, too." He trails his fingers through her hair one last time and letting her step away is as hard as always.

Some things don't grow easier with time.

"I'll keep in touch," she tells them both, because 'good-bye' always sounds too final, and then she's gone.

Erik sighs as he closes the front door, resting his head against the wood. "I hate this," he grumbles.

Charles makes a small sound of agreement and offers a mental swell of reassurance instead of pointless platitudes. Erik closes his eyes as it washes over him. _Thank __you._

_Of course, my friend. _

Pulling himself back together, Erik pushes away from the door and moves back into the apartment. Charles has seated himself at the dining room table, looking over the maps with weary eyes.

"We need a plan," he says as Erik approaches.

"Yeah."

"We need a _good _plan."

"That would be preferable, yes."

Charles huffs a tired laugh, rubbing his temple. "Any ideas?"

Erik braces his hands on the table, assessing the maps. "We have to corner her, somehow."

"Cerebro would be very beneficial in this situation," Charles mumbles.

"We don't have that option." Erik flips one of the maps over. "Besides, you said she was hard to track last time."

"Because she was moving constantly in a city of over eight million minds." Charles reaches for a map, frowning at the colored lines Erik scribbled across it. "But now I've touched her mind. I might be able to find it again."

Erik frowns darkly. "That's going to put a lot of strain on you."

"Well we don't have many other options now, do we?" Charles replies a bit snappishly. Erik blinks at him in silent surprise and he rubs his temple again.

_Sorry. _

_Don't worry about it. Everyone's entitled to temper tantrums now and then. _

"I'm thirty-four. I'm too old for temper tantrums."

Erik chuckles. "I doubt that. I've seen people older than you do far worse."

Charles dismisses the observation with a wave of his hand, but the corner of his mouth is tugging up in a hidden smile. "So how about this, I stay here and try to locate her telepathically while you go try to find her physically?"

"Sure, make me do all of the legwork."

"Naturally." Charles' eyes spark teasingly. "You have two good legs. You're the optimal choice."

Erik bats at Charles with one of the maps to hide the slight twinge in his chest that still happens whenever the telepath's damaged leg is mentioned. Charles may be able to joke about it, but he doesn't think he ever will.

_I__'__m __sorry._

He looks up to see the smile has slipped from Charles' face and his eyes are somber. _No._He shakes his head. _It__'__s__not__your__fault._

_ It's not yours either._

"Let's leave that discussion for later. Our mutant seems to have fairly refined tastes, so I think she's going to stick to this area of Manhattan," he traces the area he already blocked off, "instead of going to some of the seedier parts of the city."

Charles peers at the map doubtfully. "That's a lot of ground to cover."

Erik shrugs. "It's better than the whole city. And I'm thinking that she's going to start revisiting areas, hoping that we won't look there. She's smart, but if I can track down ex-Nazis years after they've gone into hiding, I can find her."

Charles reaches up to pat his arm. "I trust you, my friend."

There's a long, contemplative pause before Erik speaks again, voice tight with frustration. "How did we let his happen?"

It's Charles' turn to offer a shrug, though his pained expression belies the casual gesture. "I'm not sure. I guess it was our assumption that we should be able to trust our own kind."

Erik presses his lips together grimly, fighting down the anger. They've allowed themselves to become too comfortable with other mutants. Their desire to help has slowly eroded their sense of self-preservation. Shaw and the others like him they've met over the years should have served as warning enough. Not everyone is like Emma and the Hellfire Club, willing to work with them, even change some of their goals, because they're all mutants and in this fight together.

Some will settle for nothing less than annihilation of the human race. And he hates himself, sometimes, because there's still a part of him that wonders if that's the best option.

Though he would _never_hurt his own kind to achieve that goal.

Charles' hand lands on his arm, warm and steadying, and when he glances over he sees concerned blue eyes looking back.

_I__'__m __fine._"I'm heading out." He picks up his coat from one of the chairs and shrugs it over his shoulders. "I'll be back later."

"Stay in touch." Charles taps his temple and Erik nods.

"Of course."

He closes the door a little harder than necessary on his way out.


	3. Chasing Phantoms

**Well this is it. I'm sorry that it took so long to get this to you guys, and that I've utterly failed to update _Last Train _in a timely fashion. I'm currently buried beneath mountains of homework the size of the Himalayas. **

**Once again, this story is nothing really spectacular and I apologize for that. I wrote it down simply to get a scenario out of my head, more for fun than to write an epic. I hope it was still enjoyable in spite of its fragmented and underwhelming nature. **

**Feedback, like always, is much appreciated. :) **

* * *

><p>He catches a brief glimpse of her on the first day, but she slides through his grasp as easily as water.<p>

He lets out a long string of German curses in the middle of the subway, drawing angry looks from surrounding passerby, but he can't bring himself to care about their disdain.

When he gets back to the apartment, Charles looks exhausted but still presents him with dinner and a tired smile. It allows him to hold onto hope, just a little longer.

* * *

><p>On the second day, he corners her as she's exiting a cab. Her brown eyes widen in surprise when she sees him and she flinches as he grips her elbow tightly, drawing her away from the cab with his best charming smile.<p>

"You and I need to talk." There's a part of him that wants to choke her with the expensive necklace she's wearing, but his conscience that has long ago started sounding like Charles informs him that's a bad idea.

She shakes her head at him, trying to draw her arm away. "You're crazy. Leave me alone."

"Why are you doing this?" He demands, tightening his grip until it's bruising. "You're one of us. You're betraying your own kind."

"_You__'__re _the traitors," she spits, brown eyes flashing. "It's _your _fault we're in this mess. You and your _terrorism _has caused all this. I'm trying to fix it."

"They'll kill you." He wants to shake her, but he holds himself still. "You know that, don't you?"

"Let go of me." She jerks her arm again and her calm expression is creeping toward panic. Erik relishes in it.

"No."

"Help!" She shrieks suddenly, surprising him as she begins to thrash. "He's attacking me, help!"

The crowd swelling around them stutters and a few pedestrians pause and begin to turn in their direction. Erik curses mentally and tries to draw her away. She kicks his shin hard enough to make him grunt in pain and screams for help again.

He's so busy trying to stop her that he never sees the bag coming. It connects with his head, forcing a pained gasp from him as his vision briefly whites out. The man who swung the bag yells at him to leave her alone and he has no choice but to let go of her and run.

When he finally stops in an alley several blocks over, he punches the brick hard enough to stain his knuckles red.

* * *

><p>Charles is sitting on the floor in front of the windows when he gets home on the third day. He says hello in a clipped and tired tone, throwing his coat over the back of the sofa and toeing off his shoes. He hadn't been able to find her today and the frustration is simmering deep and hot in his chest, waiting to boil over.<p>

It takes him a moment to realize that Charles never answered back, not even with the customary flicker of acknowledgement through the bond. Worried now, he hurries over to the living room area and freezes when he sees Charles' pale and tired face.

There's blood dripping steadily down the telepath's nose and his whole body is shaking.

Cursing, Erik drops to his knees in front of his friend and shakes him roughly. "Charles!"

The telepath jerks, gasping as his eyes focus in again. It quickly turns into violent coughing, and Erik rubs his back soothingly, hoping no blood comes from his mouth—that would mean a level of pain he never wants Charles to reach. Fortunately, his lips stay clean, but the shivering and bloody nose remain.

"E-Erik …" he chokes out, more blood dripping, and Erik mutters another curse.

_The __bond, __Charles. _He wraps his arms around the telepath, pulling him closer as Charles' fingers claw at his arm. _Focus __on __my __mind. __Use __it __as __an __anchor._

He feels Charles reach for the bond and gasps as a torrent of pain, confusion, and chaos assaults him. Gritting his teeth, he projects as much peace and reassurance as he can, feeding it to Charles who latches on with the desperation of a dying man finding water in a desert. Slowly, so painfully slowly, he begins to relax and at last, the blood stops trickling from his nose and the shaking dies down.

_I__'__m __sorry. __I __got __a __little __lost._

_ Idiot. _Erik moves Charles closer, allowing the other man to bury his face on his shoulder, uncaring of the blood that smears across his shirt. _What __were __you __thinking?_

Charles heaves a rattling sigh, closing his eyes. There are dark circles smudging the skin beneath them and Erik curses himself for not noticing it sooner. _There__'__s __so __many __minds __here. I__t __isn__'__t__ … __easy._

_ No __kidding. _Erik pushes Charles back so the other man can see the full force of his worried glare. "You were at level two." He lifts his sleeve to wipe the blood from Charles' face and the telepath's eyes widen at the sight of the red staining the fabric.

He collects himself quickly, much to Erik's irritation, and shakes his head. "I wasn't at level two. I cough up blood at level two."

"You were close enough," Erik mutters darkly. He hates seeing Charles like this and hates even more how common a sight it is. "Why didn't you say anything about the strain? What if you had reached level three? The last thing we need is you so lost in other people's minds that you repeat their thoughts back like some kind of robot."

"I wouldn't have let it get that far," Charles insists without much force. His hands are still trembling, Erik notes, and he looks beyond exhausted.

"You let it get this far!" His concern turns his words into biting nails. "How can you—"

Charles coughs again and slumps forward, resting his forehead against Erik's shoulder, cutting him off mid-rant. "Please," he rasps, sounding very much like a corpse just come back to life, "can we fight about this later?"

Feeling a sharp stab of guilt, Erik sighs and lets his anger drain away, patting Charles' back gently. _I__'__m __sorry. _"Sure. C'mon," he shifts so he can begin to stand, bringing Charles with him as he slowly rises from the floor, wincing when circulations starts returning to his legs, "you should lie down."

Charles doesn't protest for once, allowing himself to be manhandled onto the sofa and collapsing in a boneless heap once he hits the cushions. It sends another jolt of worry through Erik that he fights away as he carefully arranges some blankets around Charles. "Do you need anything?"

_Water, _Charles sends without opening his eyes.

Erik crosses over the kitchen in three long strides, pouring a glass of water. When he returns to the sofa, Charles has managed to prop himself up on his elbows. Cupping the back of his head, Erik raises the glass to his lips and helps him drink. Charles swallows down the water in greedy gulps.

_Easy. _Erik pulls the glass away, not wanting Charles to make himself sick, and helps the telepath lie flat again. "Get some sleep. You need it."

Charles' fingers weakly grasp his wrist, stopping him from leaving. He blinks down at his friend curiously, relieved to see blue eyes staring back, looking lucid if exhausted. "I found her." It's a soft whisper that Erik barely catches.

"What?" He stutters, hardly able to believe it.

"I found her," Charles repeats in a louder croak. "I know where she is and where she's planning on going. We can … trap her, now."

Erik gapes a little, feeling a familiar rush of awe toward Charles. Sometimes, the tenacity and power of his friend still takes him by surprise. "That's incredible, Charles."

Charles smiles at him weakly. "Thank you."

"But not tomorrow," Erik decides, setting the water glass on the floor and adjusting the blankets. "Tomorrow we get some rest."

_And __they __say __**I**__**'**__**m **__the __mother __hen, _Charles huffs through the bond, but his smile is in his thoughts.

"That sounds like a marvelous idea," he says aloud, leaning back into the couch pillows and closing his eyes again. Erik shakes his head, but he can't stop the affectionate smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He turns off the lights in the apartment with a twitch of his hand and sinks down to the floor again, resting his back against the sofa. A familiar hand brushes his shoulder and Charles mumbles wearily in his ear, "You should go sleep in your own bed."

"I'm fine," he insists, shifting into a more comfortable position. He's slept in far worse places than this, and he wants to be close to Charles.

It happens sometimes, when one of them is in danger, treads too close to death's arms. They take a day or two to cling, remind themselves that the other has survived and everything will be okay. It still scares Erik every now and then, how tangled up in Charles and Raven and the Underground he's become—to the point where he doesn't think he can live without them—but he's never been able to bring himself to leave. There is safety here, for all the danger they face, and more importantly, comfort and love. After six and a half years, he's finally learning that he can have both, as much as he wants. It's an amazing feeling, being loved and wanted again, and he knows he'll never be able to let it go, no matter how selfish it might make him.

Charles' hand brushes the back of his head and the bond pulses with soothing undercurrents, flickers of _not __selfish _and _so __glad __you__'__re __here __brother __friend __look __at __how __strong __you__'__ve __made __me __how __happy __you__'__ve __made __Raven __not __going __to l__et __you __go._

Erik blinks, realizing his eyes are wet, and shakes his head, leaning back so he can rest against Charles' arm. _Not __leaving, _he sends back. _Never __leaving __love __you __both __too __much. __Now __sleep, __you __idiot._

Charles chuckles—a rasping huff of air against the side of Erik's face. _Fine. __You __too._

Erik blinks again as a wave of drowsy contentment washes over him, urging him toward sleep. He frowns at Charles' tampering, sends a brief flare of disapproval back, but doesn't fight it much, allowing it to weight his eyelids down and make his muscles boneless.

Soon, he is drifting off to sleep with his head pillowed against Charles' arm.

* * *

><p>"Sleeping on the floor was <em>not <em>a good idea," Erik grumbles on the morning of the fourth day, massaging his aching back.

Charles rolls his eyes at him and drags him out into the chilly April air, saying something about exercise and stuffy apartments and horrible tea that Erik doesn't completely catch. They grab coffee and tea at a café up the street, sitting at one of the outside tables and watching the passerby.

_What __about __that __one? _Erik asks, nodding at a woman dressed in what looks to a bathroom mat fashioned into a sweater, walking an equally hideous little poodle.

It's a game they play, sometimes. Charles usually makes a fuss about invasion of privacy and unethical usage of his gift, but more often than not, Erik can talk him around. Now, he flicks his eyes to her as he sips his tea.

_She__'__s __married __to __a __wealthy __businessman. __Lives __in __Upper __East __Side __in __a __penthouse. _A snort. _Loves __that __little __dog __more __than __anything. __So __much __that __she __spent __over __two __hundred __dollars __on __it __last __Christmas._

Erik shakes his head in amazement, watching the woman disappear into the crowd. "People never cease to amaze me."

Charles makes a noise of agreement around his scone. Flicking his bangs out of his eyes, he smiles at Erik and nods toward a proper looking man heading in the opposite direction as Bathroom Mat Lady. _What __about __him?_

Erik leans back in his seat, closing his eyes in concentration as he reaches for the familiar presence of metal, listening as it sings to him.

_He's wealthy, too. Carrying lots of expensive coins in his wallet and his wristwatch is made of fine silver and gold. The buttons on his suit are of the same kind of metal. I'm guessing it's tailor made. His eating habits must be awful, though, because he's got dozens of fillings, most of them gold, not lead. _

_Hmm. Probably not a very nice person, then. _

_I __doubt __it. _Erik opens his eyes just in time to see the crowd swallow the man as well—the metal vanishing out of range.

They play the game for a few more minutes, choosing targets for each other out of the crowd: a portly man with lots of tattoos, a stern woman in a business suit, a tired-looking man in fine clothes, an elderly woman with a gaudy hat. Finally, Charles finishes his tea and begins fishing for his wallet, placing money down on the table.

"How's your head?" Erik asks as they leave. The bond seems stable this morning, but if there's one thing he's learned about Charles, it's how good the other man can be at keeping his pain and misery to himself.

"It hurts a little, but I'm fine," Charles replies with a quick smile. "I'm keeping the barriers up high today."

"Good idea," Erik agrees and they walk on.

They spend the day walking through the city, enjoying each other's company and the beauty of New York. The mutant doesn't enter conversation and neither does Stryker or the Underground or the war they're losing.

Instead they talk about science and books and chess—stupid, pointless things that still have the power to loosen the weight in Erik's chest and bring a smile to his lips. Watching Charles animatedly describe a new theory he'd been discussing with Hank—all broad sweeping gestures and excited eyes—he thinks again that they'll be okay.

In spite of it all, they'll be okay.

* * *

><p>That night, he goes for a run.<p>

He runs until his lungs empty and scream and his legs ache. He runs down sidewalks and across streets—deeper and deeper into the city until he thinks it might swallow him whole.

He runs and runs and runs, but no matter how fast or far he goes, he cannot get the mutant's accusations out of his head and _traitor _pulses bright and hot across his mind.

* * *

><p>On the fifth day he and Charles make plans by the dining room table.<p>

They're rattling through capturing and subduing strategies when Erik mutters, "Why do you think she's doing this?"

Charles stops mid-sentence, blinking at him in bemusement. "I'm sorry?"

"You touched her mind, didn't you? Tell me why she's doing this."

_Traitor _is still hissing in his mind and the doubts have begun to gnaw at him. She's stupid and delusional and selfish, and he should be writing her off as a lunatic, but he's never had his convictions and beliefs so blatantly questioned before and it's thrown him off balance.

Charles sighs, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back in his chair. "I don't think there's an easy answer for that, my friend."

"She called us traitors." Erik cards a hand through his hair. "She said that it's our fault the government is cracking down so hard on mutants. That if we hadn't resorted to terrorism, humans and mutants would have been able to live in peace."

Charles' fingers tighten on his shirtsleeves and Erik catches a brief flare of _something _in the bond before it's sealed down tight. Frowning, he examines Charles' face, catching on the flickers of uncertainty and sadness he's trying to bury beneath a mask of calm.

"Do you agree with her?" He asks—dread settling in his stomach. He can easily remember late night chess games at the mansion, before the world went to hell, listening to Charles talk about how humans and mutants would be able to live in peace someday—that saving the world would allow them to be accepted into society.

Charles doesn't talk about that anymore, hasn't in years, and while Erik's hated watching his optimism die a slow death, he has to admit it's been a relief. But maybe he's been wrong. Maybe Charles has…

"No." Charles cuts through his frantic thoughts. "Not really."

"Not really?" Erik asks with an arched eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Charles shrugs, pushing himself up from the table so he can pace out a little of his agitation. "I wonder sometimes," he murmurs after a moment, "if we're doing the right thing."

"What do you mean?" Erik presses, twisting in his chair to watch him.

Charles sighs. "I wonder sometimes if by being so violent in our retaliation, we're only playing into the government's hands."

"What else would you have us do?" Erik feels anger swelling, propelling him out of the chair. "Just lie down and die? We haven't killed anyone, Charles. Not a single soul unless it was in self defense and absolutely necessary."

"I know," Charles rakes an agitated hand through his hair. It's getting longer these days, bangs falling onto his forehead. He wears tweed and cardigans less and less as the years go by, and Erik thinks sometimes that his professor-like demeanor is fading alongside his naivety and optimism. "But we _have_been violent and that's only given the humans more reason to fear us."

"They'll fear us anyway," Erik argues back, folding his arms across his chest defensively. Six and half years and they still can't seem to agree on this issue. He's beginning to think they never will. "My people never raised a hand against the Nazis and they killed us anyway. The humans will do the same to mutants. They fear us because they can't understand us and they hate us because they fear us."

"I _know,__" _Charles half snarls and the bond spikes with hints of rage. "I know all of that, Erik, I just…" He breaks off with a sound that is part anger, part pain, and part grief, turning away and pressing his hands to the back of the sofa.

Erik regards his bent shoulders and feels his anger slowly ebb away. "It isn't easy," he guesses softly.

His own ideals were lost before he could ever form them, ripped away by Shaw's cruel hands, but Charles gave most of his up for this cause, for the sake of their friendship, and Erik forgets that all too easily, sometimes.

"Yeah," Charles whispers. "It isn't."

"Do you regret it?" Erik asks around the lump in his throat.

"No," Charles replies immediately, turning to face Erik with a determined expression. "Of course not. I don't regret any of it. Just … I'm tired, Erik. And I wonder, sometimes, if we did the right thing. If we've taken the best course of action. Don't you have doubts?"

"Yes." Erik doesn't feel like elaborating, because his doubts are far darker than Charles' and even after so many years, he doesn't want Charles to see the stains that still mar his soul.

Charles smiles—the expression laced with familiar grief—and returns to the table, patting Erik's shoulder as he brushes past. "Well, there's no use dwelling on it now, is there? We've set our course and we have to see it through."

He joins Charles back at the table with a clipped nod, half listening as Charles delves back into their plans. The bond pulses between them—timeless and steady—and he remembers a string of empty hotel rooms and the cold metal of the helmet against his skin. How the aching emptiness in his mind matched the hole in his heart and he thought that grief and guilt and pain would swallow him whole.

No, whatever his doubts, he doesn't regret this either.

* * *

><p>On the night before the conference, they break into the mutant's hotel room.<p>

It's not their best plan by far, but they're desperate and out of time.

She shoots at them before the door has opened all the way. Stunned, Erik raises a hand to deflect the bullet. With a flick of his wrist, he sends it ricocheting away. Unfortunately, Charles steps into the room at that moment and the bullet grazes his arm before it slams into the wall. The telepath gives a startled cry and slumps against the wall, clutching his arm.

Erik freezes in horror as pain flares down the bond and the mutant seizes the opportunity his inattention provides and barrels past him into the hallway.

_ I'm fine! Go after her! _

Erik hesitates briefly, watching the blood trickling over Charles' pale fingers.

"_Go_!" Charles yells at him angrily and he finally tears himself away, racing after the wayward metamorph.

He catches sight of red hair turning a corner at the end of the hallway and sprints towards it, nearly knocking over a cleaning lady in his haste. She yells at him in Spanish as he throws himself through the door to the stairwell. He can feel the metal on the mutant's outfit, the iron in her blood, and he latches on to it with every ounce of his concentration. If she changes, hopefully he'll be able to keep track of her this way.

_She__'__s __heading __for __the __subway!_Charles calls down the bond as he weaves through several bellhops and out into the spring rain.

There's a flash of red in the corner of his vision and he trails after, moving off the curb into traffic. Horns blare as he dances through taxis and other cars, ignoring the angry shouts of the drivers. The rain obscures his vision as he tumbles down the steps toward the subway.

_She changed. She's heading out the other side. The man with the briefcase. _

He spots the nerdy-looking businessman ascending the stairs across the platform at a brisk walk and gives chase with a growl. The man looks over his shoulder and his eyes widen in surprise. Dropping the briefcase, he breaks into a run, taking the stairs two at a time.

The metal on her practically sings with her adrenalin and he wipes water out of his eyes as he chases her across the street and into Central Park. She ducks behind a tree and changes again, rippling into a lanky, athletic looking young man. Erik curses as she picks up her pace, widening the gap between them.

Slipping in the mud layering the path, he searches for some kind of tool he can use. He spots a metal sign up the path a few feet and rips it from the ground, swinging it at her like a bat. It connects with her back, sending her sprawling into the mud, and he uses it to keep her pinned as he approaches at a run.

When he reaches her side, he freezes at the sight of Raven looking up at him—pain written across her beautiful face.

"Erik?" She asks in a voice laced with tears and betrayal, and his heart stutters out a horrified beat.

_It__'__s __not __her! __Erik, __it__'__s __not __her! __Focus! _Charles' voice rips through his shock like a small tornado, dragging him gasping back into reality. The mutant has managed to push the sign off herself and he has just enough time to duck the fist swinging toward his face. The metamorph is still wearing Raven's skin—blonde hair glinting in the lamplight—and Erik feels a rush of black hate.

He swings back hard, connecting with thin air as she dodges. She manages to land a rough punch on his stomach and he gasps as the air is forced from his lungs. Her next blow cracks across his face and he staggers, feeling warm blood well along his lip. Snarling, he lifts the sign from the ground and swings it with his mind. She ducks, just as he predicted, and his next blow connects with her side. He follows up with a swift kick to her shins and she sinks into the mud with a frustrated gasp.

Her skin ripples again—different from the way Raven changes, he has time to note—and at last, Raven's face is gone, replaced with a man's, tough and muscled. When Erik punches again, the mutant barely flinches and practically bats him away with a meaty hand, sending him sprawling.

_A __little __help __here, __Charles, _he growls down the bond.

_I__'__m __trying, _Charles snaps back. _It __isn__'__t __easy __from __this __distance. __And __she__'__s __got __a __powerful __mind._

_ Well, hurry up. Fighting a metamorph is harder than expected. I think Raven's been going easy on me. _

_No __doubt. __Now __shut __up __and __let __me __concrete. __And __pay __attention._

Erik rolls to avoid an incoming blow, managing to hook a foot behind the mutant's knee and _pull,_dragging her down into the mud with him. They tussle on the ground, kicking and jabbing. It's vicious and rough, but Erik can't bring himself to feel remorse as he cracks an elbow against the mutant's chin, allowing him to scramble free and back to his feet.

The mutant surges up after him, snagging him by the back of his jacket. He gasps and hauls himself forward, sliding his arms free of the sleeves. Reaching out, he latches onto the coins his always keeps in his pockets and wrenches them to him, letting them hover threateningly in the air as he turns to face off with the mutant again.

His ribs are aching and he can feel blood trickling down the side of his face, but he'll fight to the death if need be.

This ends here.

The mutant is wiping blood from her face as well, glaring at him darkly.

"This stops now," he says grimly. "Or these coins go through your skull."

He'd really rather not do that—too many nightmares of Charles screaming and blood staining his hands as he kills his best friend along with his enemy—but desperate times…

_Wait, __Erik! _Charles cries. _Don__'__t __kill __her! __Please._

Erik sighs mentally. _Fine. __Hurry __up._

He hurls the coins anyway, aiming for non-vital parts of the mutant's body. One slices her arm, but she manages to dodge the rest and he blocks her blow with his forearm, gritting his teeth against the pain. Circling the coins back around, he manages to lodge one in her shoulder as she lands a brutal kick to his chest, slamming him back into a tree.

Coughing, he struggles to rally himself. He's been in worse fights than this, but it's been awhile. He's getting rusty.

She's advancing again and he braces, ready to dodge. But just before she can swing, her body stutters to a halt.

_ Hurry, _Charles hisses, sounding pained.

Erik wastes no time. Lifting the sign from the ground, he swings it with all his might, sending her crumpling to the ground in a boneless heap.

A flare of pain runs down the bond from Charles and he sends back frantic apologies as he bends to check the mutant's pulse. It flutters weakly beneath his fingers and his hangs his head wearily.

_It__'__s __over._

Charles' voice is just as worn. _Good._

* * *

><p>Erik is sitting next to the mutant's body when Charles limps into the park.<p>

The telepath kneels next to him with a pained grunt and Erik slides his gaze away from the mutant's pale face to Charles', frowning at the sight of the bloodstained bandaged wrapped around his upper arm and the dark circles under his eyes.

"Are you alright?"

Charles nods, massaging his leg as he shifts into a more comfortable position. "I will be. Let's get this over with."

Erik turns his attention back to the unconscious metamorph. "She's not blue. Like Raven. She looks perfectly human."

"I don't know why," Charles says, reaching for her temples. "It would be interesting to study it further, but we can't afford to do that right now. I have to erase her memories."

Erik nods, resting his chin on his knees. Now that his anger has had time to cool into embers, he can feel the weight of sorrow pressing against him. It always hurts when they aren't able to help their own kind, and this is no exception, even if the mutant brought this on herself.

Charles closes his eyes in concentration and silence hovers. Erik keeps himself still, knowing how delicate and challenging a process this is. The minutes tick by in slow progression as Charles' skin pales further and blood wells in his nostrils again, trickling slowly down his face. Erik looks away, forcing down the urge to protect the telepath, stop the process that's causing him pain. A few minutes later it's over, and Charles is wiping the blood away with the back of his hand.

"There," he says quietly, looking down at the mutant with sad eyes. "She won't even remember she's a mutant anymore."

"Why was she doing this?" Erik asks again, reaching out to touch her cool forehead. "Why betray us to Stryker of all people?"

"She believed that she would be making peace. That by eliminating what she thought was a terrorist organization, she and others could pave the way for peace." Charles sounds equally pained and remorseful and Erik sighs raggedly.

"The worst of evils stem from the best of intentions."

"So it would seem." Charles blinks up into the rain still pelting them. "I've contacted Emma. She's sending Azazel to pick up our mutant. They'll deal with relocation."

"Good," Erik snorts, ready to wash his hands of this whole affair. "I don't know about you, but I've had enough of this city."

Charles laughs without any real humor. "Me too."

Azazel arrives in a flash of red and black smoke several minutes later.

"Comrades," the Russian says politely, nodding at them. His gaze slides to the unconscious metamorph and a frown deepens the lines on his scarred face. "That is her, yes?"

"Yes," Charles replies. "Please see to it that she is placed in a safe town, well away from the Underground."

"Of course." Azazel bends, scooping up the girl in his arms. "Emma and I will see to it. She will be put well out of harm's way."

"Thank you, Azazel." Charles smiles and the Russian returns it briefly.

"Take care, comrades."

He's gone in another swirl of smoke and the silence rests heavy in his wake.

"It's over," Erik whispers at last, peering up at the trees and the city lights.

"Yes," Charles agrees, closing his eyes. "It is."

They sit together in the rain and wish that was true.

* * *

><p>"Maybe I had said, something that was wrong.<p>

Can I make it better, with the lights turned on?

_fin. _


End file.
